Frilly.
©GT6 Photography
*LEAVE CREDITS WHEN RE-BLOGGING*
Total sweetheart vibes.
socks
Speaking of aesthetics.
This is at the top of the list of stuff we need to do when Sir comes and visits.
I meeeean.
Basically.
I don’t know how it’s possible that something that is almost entirely about my pleasure is still so totally, completely humiliating.
“Life makes fools of all of us sooner or later. But keep your sense of humor and you’ll at least be able to take your humiliations with some measure of grace.” ― Paul Murray, Skippy Dies.
I’ve never been able to sleep through the whole night with someone holding me. I fidget too much or something doesn’t fit right or I just need some space.
He’s the first and the only person I can do this with. The first time I woke up like that, I was shocked. Now, we just default to this.
(Agh this post is super, super blushy but Sir is having me write it so bear with me because ugh it’s so blushy I can’t.)
So, Sir decided that since we’re moving into a new sort of dynamic, I have a few lessons to learn so that I can be a good slave. The first, today, was that my holes needed to be filled up when they weren’t in use.
He taught me that the order was ass, mouth and pussy. The ass came first because I had to remember that my pleasure comes second. The mouth comes second so that I can get the gag wet with my pussy. And then the pussy is last to make sure I’m all filled up and I don’t forget what my holes are for.
It was the afternoon and I didn’t have anywhere to be for a bit, so I bent over on my bed and put my metal plug in my asshole. Then, I laid down and got my pussy all wet, rubbed my cock gag into it and gagged myself with it. And then I slipped Mr. Purple deep into my pussy, but didn’t turn it on.
It was a little overwhelming, how full I felt. I couldn’t even sit down because the pressure was so intense (I’m a very little girl) and so I was stuck either lying down or kneeling. But Sir said he was very proud of me and I was proud of myself. Usually, when it comes to doing stuff to myself on my own, I wuss out and don’t carry it out. But I just wanted to be a good girl.
I’m looking forward to learning more lessons.
Sweetheart says she’s ready for Santa to come visit tonight.
She’s been practicing all year.
The Adventures of Sir, Sweetheart and Mr. Purple, Part Three
I was rather exhausted, so we ended the night with me sucking Sir’s cock and taking a little nap right after in his arms that turned into a few hours of sleep. I woke back up and Sir had me brush my teeth and get ready before he tucked me in and put me to bed.
The following afternoon, Sir had me take off my clothes and lie down on my stomach. He put my new cuffs on and secured them together over my head. “Are you ready, girl?” he asked, running his hand over my bare ass.
I should clarify that lately I’ve been opening up to him about wanting to explore some territory that I had been previously closed the door on. Basically, in the past, I’d had my trust betrayed to such a degree that I backed away from some of the more extreme forms of submission that I really do want. Time and again, Sir has proved himself trustworthy and so I opened up to him about some of the things that I wanted.
To avoid any more digression, I’ll leave it at this: I wanted to be encouraged to endure the pain Sir gives me and not just safeword on the first instinct. Because I wanted to deepen my submission to Sir, and because he enjoys inflicting pain, I wanted to get better at taking this pain.
So, I let him cane me. To make sure I would be able to handle the pain and as a preemptive reward for doing it, Sir allowed me to have Mr. Purple on in my pussy.
First, he started caning me. The first hit was unexpectedly painful – I’d never been caned before – and I cried out. He worked his way up, spacing out his hits, checking in with me while I squirmed and shrieked.
Next, he moved over to his set of floggers and crops and returned with a new toy that he had made. It was leather and consisted of two thick tails, an impossibly threatening and mean-looking tool he waved with a smirk. “It’s called a tawse,” he explained, “they used to use these to punish schoolboys.”
I could only take two hits before I was screaming, and Sir switched over to the strap before returning to using the cane. Strangely, the hits stopped hurting and were instead just a series of thuds that almost felt kind of good. My cries subsided into moans. “Are you hitting gentler, Sir?” I asked.
“No,” he replied, “that’s just the endorphins.” When we finished, he held me and told me how proud he was. And, honestly, I was pretty damn proud of myself.
Still, for the whole ordeal, the marks were still gone by that evening.